He reached in, pulled out a pair of four-ounce blue leather MMA gloves, and threw them down on the lawn so they landed against the toes of my boots.

“Put those on, old man, I’m going to make you bleed!” Trent yelled.

All the easy conversation along the food tables stopped at once.

Emily took a fast step back toward Nora, clutching her paper cup.

Nora patted her cardigan pockets as though she were hunting for lost glasses, edging slightly in front of Emily to block her view.

Trent rocked back and forth on his toes, bouncing in short, tight beats as he spread his feet wider.

“You grabbed my wrist on my property line three weeks ago,” Trent said, pushing his booming voice loud enough for every porch on the street to hear.